Glazed eyes are the least of his troubles he can't even see the bodies, really. His axe was already clean. Blood wafted from his clothes. He put his gear back together and sat down quietly in the shadow of a tree.
"Moradin grant your children peace and your enemies the compassion they're due." It's all he offers to the world for the things that just happened. Hard-faced as a stone the Dwarf waits counting blades of grass. He doesn't notice his helmet when it falls off his head.